


Where we got left to run

by neverloveawildone



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverloveawildone/pseuds/neverloveawildone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles may have failed at being strong or brave... but he can be good. </p>
<p>He has to be. It’s all he has left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where we got left to run

**Author's Note:**

> I am not sure what shape this will take yet, but I wanted to try feeling out these two characters and how they would fit together after the end of Season 2. Obviously, spoilers for Season 1 and Season 2, and AU after the end of Season 2.
> 
> I can’t make any promises about regular updates, because the muses are fickle, but I hope you enjoy this!

It's always worst when the memories catch him unawares.

A laugh that sounds like Laura's, a waft of a familiar scent, a fleeting sense of deja vu that throws him back to some warm, bright memory from _before_ that he thought he had locked away long ago. Memories he feels he has no right to anymore. Memories that offer him solace, even as they slice deep beneath his ribs like a hunter's arrow, sharp and poisoned with guilt.

When the memories creep up on him, Derek hides. He lets the wolf take over, because the wolf is feral instinct and reaction, not soft human pain and weakness. He feels the transformation ripple through skin, muscle and bone, feels his human thoughts become fuzzy around the edges as his senses get sharper.

The wolf is armor against Derek’s tender, human heart.

On those nights, silver-tipped and lonely, Derek runs and runs. He's never sure if he's running towards something or away from something.

Perhaps it's cheating. Perhaps he is running away from some inevitable debt, a sorrow that will always haunt him, but for a few moments – immeasurable in the wolf's mind – he is _free._

He runs through the woods, feels the calming sting of the cool night air, the mellow moonlight, the comforting boughs of the trees, hanging over him like angels' wings. He feels the blood pounding in his veins, and the crunch of leaves and dirt and soft, decaying things under his feet. He feels, for fleeting moments, like he has caught a glimpse of something he thought he had lost forever... _home._

Even as the wolf, he feels that longing buried within his chest, for those who aren't there any longer. For pack. For... family. He lets a bone-deep howl rip out of his throat, pouring into it all the agony that he has no words for.

\- - -

Stiles wonders how long a human can function without proper sleep.

Of course, like he always does when he wonders something, he immediately starts researching it. Sleep studies, the physiological impact, the effects on the brain... different types of insomnia. 

He’s up all night at his computer. Not like he can fall asleep anyway.

He knows self-diagnosing based on internet research is probably stupid, but it helps to have a name for it. A label, so he knows he’s not alone in this creeping madness that leaves him tired and cranky with dry eyes and a fuzzy mind.

Acute insomnia, at this point, since it hasn’t lasted for more than a month. Just a few days before it becomes chronic insomnia.

His body is exhausted. His mind is too, but it won’t stop, won’t shut down, won’t take a breath from the tumbling thoughts and fears and anxieties of all that’s already gone wrong and all that could go wrong.

His mind is like some sick montage of all the horrible things that could happen, all the people in his life who could get hurt.. his dad, Scott, Scott’s mom, Lydia, Allison... even Danny.

Stiles has always been a planner, even if they turn out to be stupid plans. But you can only make plans when you have some idea of what to expect. 

So when the insanity doesn’t end at his best friend becoming a werewolf, his classmate turning into a giant serial killing lizard, some jackass with PTSD and sociopathic tendencies holding his dad at gunpoint, or even Allison’s grandad suddenly becoming some vengeful monster... Stiles doesn’t know how to plan anymore. 

The monsters in his nightmares don’t even have solid shapes anymore.

He isn’t equipped to deal with this.

He gives up.

Stiles doesn’t want people to notice, so he continues with the chatter while they’re around. It comes easily after all these years, even though it’s exhausting in a way it’s never been, because now he has to filter out all the real terrors in his mind, he can’t just blurt out whatever he’s thinking.

Stiles already knows he’s the weakest link physically. Gerard made sure of that. He doesn’t want to acknowledge that he’s the weakest link mentally too, that this is affecting him more than it is the others.

He practices lacrosse with Scott, makes his dad eat healthy meals despite all the grumbling and makes all the proper motions when it comes to school, homework, everything.

Scott’s busy trying to win back Allison, but he does ask Stiles, a concerned (and adorable) frown crumpling his forehead, “Hey man, are you okay?” when Stiles looks especially worn.

“Yeah, yeah, just tired from all the practice,” he replies, shrugging it off with an easy smile and a friendly clap to Scott’s shoulder. He thinks it’s lucky that Scott still hasn’t learned to interpret the blips in his skittering heartbeat to tell when he’s lying or skirting around the truth.

His dad sits him down for some family dinners, and they _do_ talk. They do. But there’s so much that Stiles can’t tell him, so many secrets that aren’t his to tell.

Stiles doesn’t want to worry his dad. He doesn’t want to worry Scott, or anyone. He still remembers his mother’s words to him, when she was conscious enough to give him some maternal advice. “Be good for him, Stiles. Be strong. Be brave.”

He still feels the ghost of that last papery kiss against his forehead. The tears he couldn’t hold in when she said, “My baby,” and pulled him close.

Stiles may have failed at being strong or brave... but he can be good. 

He has to be. It’s all he has left.

\- - -


End file.
